Waltz For One
by WhiteWings9
Summary: A series of shorts featuring Ivan and Yao in the figure skating world. Russia/China.
1. Part 1

**Waltz For One - Part 1**

Yao had been in the business of figure skating for over a decade now. He had started as a child, and since his international debut on his eighteenth birthday he had rocketed to the very top of the game, unmatched by anyone. He competed regularly in national and international championships, and even represented his country twice in the Olympics (winning gold and a silver medal respectively). He knew very little beyond a life of competing and constantly practicing, and truth be told he did not care for it; skating was his only passion, and it was why he remained single, completely opposed to all expectations for him to marry and settle down, at the age of thirty-two. He was happy as he was.

Staying as long as he had in the business, he was under the (completely justified) impression that he knew everyone in the game. That is, anyone who was anyone, and of course he kept up-to-date with the newcomers. If he had not heard of you, you were not worth knowing. It was that simple.

The day came when he was proven wrong.

It was during the preliminaries of the world junior championship which he attended to watch over a couple of promising young talents. They were not scheduled to perform until later in the day, so he was not particularly observant for most of it. He was perusing the program for the fifth or sixth time, idly folding down the corners of the paper, when the crowd burst into a cheer at the announcement of one Ivan Braginski.

_He must be very handsome to be so popular_, he thought as the crowd of largely women surged to the glass borders of the rink.

When Ivan glided out, waving and smiling, Yao thought he was rather heavyset. He was graceful enough stroking around the ice as a warm up. But what the crowd saw in him, his rather garish costume, and his face which was not your stereotypical good looks, Yao was not too sure. His eyes fell onto his watch. He still had an hour left to wait before his talents came on. He might just take the opportunity to grab himself a quick lunch.

The stadium hushed as Ivan took his starting position, and the first note of music rang across the ice as Yao stood up. Before he could make his way out, however, Ivan sprang into his routine.

And what a routine.

Within the first couple of minutes, this young man whom he had never heard of until that moment pulled off a series of moves that had him transfixed. He was skilled, yes, and startlingly graceful for a man of his size, but that was not all of it. Yao thought and thought as Ivan whisked around the rink, raising a cheer for every jump, twist and pirouette, but as much as he thought he could not pinpoint exactly what it was that made Ivan special. He dropped back into his seat, all thoughts of lunch and the talents he had come to see wiped from his mind.

Ivan finished his routine with a twirl and a flourish, and the stadium erupted into a roar. It was an outstanding performance and he knew it. Flushed with exertion, panting and smiling the widest smile, Ivan took a deep bow to another round of applause. Yao found himself clapping along with the rest of them, his mind racing at the same rate of his heart.

_This Ivan Braginski is something else_.

* * *

Originally a request on Tumblr.


	2. Part 2

**Waltz For One - Part 2**

Ivan will always remember the winter of 1998. It was a bitterly cold day, and he was on his way home from school when he caught sight of a television playing in the window of a shop. He slowed to watch the screen in idle curiosity, stopping before he passed the window altogether, and turned to watch it with his full attention.

The television was showing a skating programme of some sort. It was the annual world figure skating championship, he was to learn afterwards, but up until that moment in his boyhood he had never given the sport a single thought. As he watched the screen, however, with increasing fascination at the lithe figure gliding around the ice, he felt the first stirrings of interest which, over the next few years, developed into a lifetime passion of his own.

The passion extended to the man who introduced it all to him with his performance on television that wintry day; a man from China, a distant and exotic land to a boy his age living in a remote Russian town. And what had started as simple hero worship quickly grew into a full blown obsession. He consumed every available public information on Wang Yao – his origins (a northern Chinese village similarly remote to Ivan's town), his age (only fourteen years older than Ivan), his likes and dislikes (skating and attending press interviews respectively) – and followed every competition Yao ever took part in, watching his every triumph as he grew to become the world's skating champion.

Ivan always took his love for the Chinese skater, cold and unsmiling in every picture except when he skated (he only ever seemed to smile when he skated), to be one of a particularly loyal fan. That is, until the summer of 2008, the year he was to make his international debut in the figure skating scene. He woke up one morning flushed, panting and perspiring – and horribly, horribly mortified for having had the most vivid wet dream of his childhood hero.

_May God forgive me_, he thought as he clung to dregs of the dream – Yao moaning, writhing beneath him in throes of heated lust – and brought himself to a climax.

He glided through the preliminaries of the world junior championship and quickly attracted the attention of the skating world. The same press who had charted Yao's growth was now marking him as a promising young star. He was pleased, of course. But a small part of him also hoped that his new fame would attract the attention of his hero.

"He might be here, you know? That world champion you like so much."

Ivan felt himself grow red as he fixed on his skates. He might have mumbled something that negated his fellow junior skater's words, because Matthew became suddenly insistent.

"This is the world junior championship, we're in the semi-finals, and you don't think the world champion would come and see us? Get real Braginski, he's here! There's no doubt about it."

For all his repeated yearnings to meet Yao one day, it never once crossed his mind that Yao might actually attend his performances. He was probably being naïve, in retrospect. He stared at a beaming Matthew, dumbstruck as the realisation worked through him.

_Of course the world champion would be here!_

"Braginski, you're up next! Get warmed up!"

Ivan leapt to the attention of General Winter (that was their nickname for his coach), and with a parting look at Matthew he walked out of the locker room and into the stadium.

_He might be here_, his heart thundered as his name was announced to cheers and ringing applause.

All those years of sacrifices and hard work. All those years of training. And here he was.

In spite of his turning stomach, Ivan felt himself smile as he prepared to skate out into the rink. He hoped that it was true, that Yao was somewhere in the audience to watch him skate. After all, every step he had taken since he was that child by the window peering into a television – it had all been to bring himself closer to Yao.


	3. Extra

**Waltz For One - Extra**

Ivan found it difficult to manoeuvre down the hall and into the room with Yao a deadweight by his side. Slotting the key card into the reader, he pushed open the door and turned to pull Yao into the room, puffing from the sheer effort of propping Yao's weight (he was surprisingly heavy for someone so lean). There were a few knocks and tumbles getting him across the room and onto the bed. But once they reached the bed, Yao sank bonelessly into the crisp, creaseless linen and balled himself into the fluffed up pillows.

"Water," he moaned.

Ivan was still trying to catch his breath, but he leapt immediately to action, running into the bathroom to fetch a glass.

"Here you go," he said, rushing back and thrusting the glass to Yao. As luck would have it he slopped half of it over him.

"I-I'm so sorry! I – please get out of your shirt, you'll catch a c–"

Soft. Soft, moist and warm, his tongue snaking in through Ivan's parted lips, tasting of the hard Chinese liquor he had been drinking endlessly of. Ivan started, the glass tumbling out of his hand and spilling all over the bed, but Yao held tight to him, his hands wrapped behind Ivan's head, and he kissed him long and deep and breathlessly.

When at last they parted lips, Yao whispered in a low, throaty voice, "Fuck me."

It was a blur afterwards. Or a skip forward, like missing a step down the stairs. Suddenly he was on his back, unclothed, as Yao rode him, fisted hands resting his weight on Ivan as he rode him, rough, quick and hard. He was flushed, he was panting, his eyes soft and golden warm as they rarely were, hazed with carnal pleasure. Ivan wanted so badly to reach out and cup his cheek, tuck the strands of long, black hair that have loosened out of its tie back behind his ear. He could not reach that far, so instead he gripped at Yao's neglected member and stroked, watching as Yao paused to give a delicious shiver.

Another tripped step. Yao now under him, spread-eagled, arms above his head and clutching at the headboard as Ivan slammed repeatedly into him. He was deaf to everything – the creaking of the bed, the slap of flesh against flesh – too entirely focused on the feather-soft sighs falling from Yao's kissed-red lips and the feel of Yao around him; wet, heated, and impossibly tight.

"F-feels good," Yao hitched, quivering with pleasure. His hand was reaching to trail down the side of Ivan's face, feeling cool to his hot, perspiring temple. "Feels good," he repeated again as Ivan pressed into his hand, kissing his wrist.

And then…

Ivan was back in his room, the birds just starting to wake, chirruping as dawn crept in through the window in long blue splinters. The alarm he had set to wake him had fallen into snooze mode and lay innocently still under his pillow.

His heart still beating in his chest, Ivan lifted his bedcovers and peered down at the impressive tent in his pyjama bottoms. He flopped back with a sigh, and tried to empty his brain of all filthy thoughts in a doomed attempt to not give in, not this time.

_May God forgive me_, he thought dolefully as he gave in at last, as he always did.

He shifted out of his pants, bringing out his erection in full and began to stroke himself, his thoughts full of Yao – hot, flushed, panting and naked – and his heart heavy with guilt.


	4. Part 3

**Waltz For One – Part 3**

The last few days had been such a whirlwind of unbelievable events it left Ivan half-certain he was in a dream. But now things were slowly winding down, and soon he would have to leave the place altogether. He was to return to a humdrum life, finish his formal schooling, perhaps even go on to higher education. He was not quite decided on the matter. So much of his focus had been on his figure skating career after all.

Before he was to leave he thought he would sneak into the stadium for a final time.

He chose to go through the locker room as part of his late-night excursion. It was dark, and he half-expected to be turned away at any moment by a patrolling guard or a locked door. But the doors were all unlocked and there was no-one around to stop him. It proved surprisingly easy to get in.

When he got to the ice rink, however, it was clear that somebody else had beaten him to it. The lights were on, but only the ones over the rink, leaving the audience seats in the dark. Music was crackling from what sounded like a portable CD player – loud but simultaneously muffled in the size of the stadium, without any weight behind it – accompanied by the noise of blades slicing over ice, the unmistakable sound of someone skating.

Ivan edged himself towards the rink, curious. When he got close enough, he saw that the skater was none other than Yao, consecutive world champion and his lifelong hero.

Yao was stroking round and round the ice rink, rapidly gathering speed. Once he reached a peak, he leapt high into the air and executed a tight double spin, landing back on the ice on one feet with the rest of his limbs thrown out for balance. He kept his momentum as he stroked another lap around the ice, jumping into air with another spin, and another, and another – three in a row, landing perfectly each time.

He was not skating to a routine. It looked as if he was simply having fun.

Ivan watched, mesmerised, as Yao went on to practice his footwork so flawlessly it looked effortless. It was one thing to watch his hero on television, quite another entirely to see him at work this close. Ivan could touch him if he simply reached out his hand. He found himself longing to do so.

The music was coming to an end, and Yao slowed with it, wiping perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his jumper, looking the happiest Ivan had ever seen him.

Then he caught sight of Ivan and stopped abruptly, his skates screeching as they dug deep into the ice.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" he said sharply.

Ivan felt quashed. "P-pardon, I didn't mean to intrude…" he mumbled.

Yao glided smoothly across the ice to Ivan. He stopped at the benches and grabbed a bottle of water from his bag, twisting off the cap and drinking deeply from it. His sharp golden eyes never left Ivan, boring into him.

"Have you brought your skates?" he said once he had drunk his fill.

"I – what?"

"Your skates," Yao repeated with a touch of impatience. "You came here to skate as well, haven't you?"

Ivan blinked. "I may… sk-skate… with you?"

Yao capped his bottle and dropped it back into his bag. He twisted around, gliding back out into the rink, and said over his shoulder, "Put them on and join me when you're ready."

Ivan dropped onto the bench, dug out his own skates from the bag he had indeed brought along, and strapped them onto his feet quicker than he had ever done in his whole life. Once he had them on, he skated across the ice to where Yao had gone to fiddle with the CD player, heart lodged in his throat.

This was another dream, surely.

The music that floated now from the crackly speakers was a simple waltz piece. Yao spun around on the spot as Ivan approached him, shyly offering his hand.

"May I?"

Yao said nothing, but placed his own hand into Ivan's and allowed himself to be pulled into a more intimate space. Ivan rested his free hand lightly on Yao's waist, to which Yao raised an enquiring eyebrow, but still he said nothing.

They glided once around the rink at a simple, leisurely pace.

"You were the one who got me into, uhm, skating."

"Is that so?"

They slowed almost to a stop and Ivan raised their hands to spin Yao. Yao followed his lead with another quirked eyebrow. He could not pass up the opportunity to turn the twirl into a little pirouette, and Ivan admired his footing up close. Another part of him simply admired the length of his leg.

"Thank you for saying so," Yao said as their hands clasped together once more.

Ah, he was smiling. Everything about him changed when he smiled, especially his eyes which soften to a warm, golden glow, and he looked less stern then. But this was quite different from his usual smiles – not the assured quirk of lips as he executed a particularly tricky routine. It was a little more subdued if no less radiant, a little more sincere. Ivan realised then that it had been his words which had triggered it, and he felt his cheeks flame up.

That was when he lost his footing and fell with a crash. He had instinctively grabbed on to Yao, who fell with him, and now he was flat on his back on the cold, wet ice staring up at the white blazing lights.

"Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?"

He did feel a little light-headed, though he was not sure if it was solely from the impact of the fall.

As he gazed up at a startled and concerned Yao, his mind latched on to only one thought. Without thinking, without realising what he was doing, he propped himself up to narrow the distance between them and carefully, very carefully, he kissed Yao on the lips.


End file.
